


Some Days

by Bloodwolf



Series: The hands that bind [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Drama, I'm Sorry, M/M, soul mates, troupes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 14:51:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodwolf/pseuds/Bloodwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The name 'Gamzee' is written in elaborate, indigo script across your hand, perfectly accented with bold curves and round edges that make any calligrapher fail in comparison. In truth, it looks like any other Soul Name at first glance, but when you peer in closer, mapping out the fine lines with your eyes, only you can see the jagged edges, the sharp ends and pointed turns, like someone sketched the Name with tiny, ugly strokes.</p>
<p>It's perfect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Days

**Author's Note:**

> I'm tired.  
> I've seen this troupe in other fandoms I stalk, and I wanted to do one myself.  
> Don't hate me.

The name 'Gamzee' is written in elaborate, indigo script across your hand, perfectly accented with bold curves and round edges that make any calligrapher fail in comparison. In truth, it looks like any other Soul Name at first glance, but when you peer in closer, mapping out the fine lines with your eyes, only you can see the jagged edges, the sharp ends and pointed turns, like someone sketched the Name with tiny, ugly strokes.

It's perfect.

Sometimes, you wonder who owns the Name. Is it a hot blonde girl? A smart brunette? A frisky redhead? What if it isn't a woman, but a man instead? With smooth muscles and movie star looks? You've fantasized with all these angles, and you finish in your hand all the same, calling out to the mysterious Name like a contorted prayer.

It's a sort of comfort, knowing that there's someone out there for you. Someone who's perfect in every way shape and form. Someone who will accept you, flaws and imperfections included. Someone who will hold you during those rough days where you don't want to get out of bed. You don't even know this person, but you already love them.

Sadly that's not always the case.

Her name was Vriska, a pretty blonde with a single blue stripe in her hair. People where afraid of her, not because of her intimidating demeanor, or demanding presence, but she was a blank. No Name grazed her olive hand. People are afraid of the mere thought of being alone, and she's the embodiment of those fears. And she took full advantage of it, claiming you as a 'trophy' for one.

You thought you loved her, going so far as to curse the Name already written for not being hers. You think she does it to make a point. To prove that Names mean nothing and fate is bullshit. You thought you believed her too. But when her insults dug deep and cuts start to bleed, you begged for the Name to save you. It ended when Vriska bedded you and by some force you can't explain, you called out the Name on your hand in height of passion. You didn't even realized it happened until she stopped.

She slapped you. Didn't think twice on it. Just slapped you and left without finishing. The next day she hit you with her car. Claimed it was an accident, but who would believe a Blank?

Those days were the worst. You would crawl out of bed and into your wheelchair, struggle with clothes, suffer with the sneers and mocking torment of your peers, wheel back home, homework, then bed. Most days you'd cry yourself to sleep. Others, you'd just stare blankly at your hand. Then the curses came back. Where are they? Why aren't they here? Why am I suffering alone?

Pretty soon, the days just blur after that. Day in and day out, you're faced with the same routine. Some days, the Name is comfort, like it used to. Others, it's just blind distress.

Then, for a few long anguishing moments, the Name faded one day.

You were role-playing online with Aradia, drowning out your sorrows in fantasy worlds you wish existed instead of this distopian place you dwell in. As you immerse yourself in this online nirvana, the troubles dotting your life on Earth slowly fade to the back of your mind, from Vriska, to the dominating Name on your hand.

You really don't know what happened. You think you might have been reaching for your soda on the side, when you just glanced at it, out of pure habit, and you just panicked. The Name, once bold against your hand, faded against your skin like an old tattoo. As the ghost of the name haunts you, you freak out to Aradia, breaking character and throwing line after line of distress to your close friend. She replies with sympathetic phrases and other bullcrap you can't remember.

It was about two minutes later the Name came back, but the dread didn't.

It's dull now; the color and life that once inhibited the Name turned bland and pale, like a bitter, forgotten memory. You don't know what hurts more; the Name fading, or the way it looks like it wants too.

You swore you'd find this person from that day on. It wasn't an easy search, you had only a first name to go by (you're friend Dave had went through several dozen 'John's before finding the right one), and even with the unusual name, the hits were nothing conclusive. You scavenged through Facebook page after page, sometimes hitting up old Myspace pages, but nothing showed, and no 'Gamzee' you found felt right.

Some nights you feel pain, like a knife slowly dragging across the skin of your hand and you cry. You cry because you want to find him now, and you want to hold him and say that you're here, ignoring the same for yourself.

Soon days turned into years and now, even with, working prosthetics, a collage degree in Veterinary Science and your own clinic downtown, you still look, despite drawing up blanks every time you click a random link. You feel more and more lonely when you do, despite all your friends encouraging you all the way.

\-----

Today's a slow day at the clinic, only a few birds and kind soul bringing a stray or two, and the rain isn't helping matters whatsoever. Kanaya, your receptionist, had just announced that's she's heading home early to catch her Soul Mate (a nice lady named Rose. You like her; she's knitted you a wool mug jacket for your coffee cup) before she comes home. You let her go with a smile and announce that you would be doing the same in a while. Nearly half an hour later of no activity, you lock up for the day, briskly heading toward the bus stop, umbrella in hand.

In a passing alleyway, you hear a crash and you freeze on the spot, turning your head toward the source of the noise. You hear a few more shuffles and your first instinct is to run the fuck away. But you couldn't despite your metal legs clacking in protest. Something's… drawing you toward the ally, and for the life of you, you can't figure out why. Your vet side's telling you that it might be an animal, but the other side…

Slowly, you tread toward the ally, the rain falling around you and muffling your steps. Soon, you find the back way of a themed restaurant and a man sitting against the wall, his head low in defeat. Your mind is telling you to run again, but you still can't.

The man has black, unruly hair, wet and heavy from the rain. He's tan, like he's been out in the sun for a long time, and his clothes, which is just black jeans and a purple jacket, are dirty and hole ridden, pulled together with horribly done stitches and safety pins. You should run. But you won't.

Timidly, you approach the man, inquiring if he's okay. He growls out something unintelligible behind the rain. He's still not looking at you. You reach a hand out to him, ignoring the flashing lights in your head telling you that THIS IS NOT A GOOD IDEA.

He growls again and grabs your wrist with a painful vice grip, and he's half way through a warning before he catches the Name on your hand. His bloodshot, dark blue, almost purple eyes scan over the dull lines and you notice his eyes start to water. You were about to ask what's wrong, before he twists his wrist around, revealing the Name on his hand.

Your breath hitches.

"Tavros' is written perfectly across the plains of his left hand in bold brown, complimenting the tan of his skin, but sadly decorated with self inflicted scars across and around the otherwise flawless Name. Peering deeper you notice the edges of the sharp turns chipped, as if the lines were once broken, but hastily attached together again.

You don't know whether or not you hugged or kissed him.

Where were you, he asks when you pull away.

You don't know, but you wish you came sooner.


End file.
